Lost and Found

"Honey?" The door opened a crack. Tom looked over, face panic stricken as he saw his mother appear in the doorway. Amanda had changed into a crisp white blouse with an extra button undone to reveal a tasteful hint of her lightly-freckled cleavage, and a tight red pencil skirt that emphasized her diminutive waist and the swing of her hips. She carried a pair of dark red heels in one hand. The smoky grey nylons were sheer and shimmery in the light, and her toes wriggled once, in surprise at discovering the tableau laid across her son's bed.

Before anyone could say anything more, Tom glimpsed the pattern flashing up his mother's shin, and suddenly he was cumming, grunting and fucking hard into the dark pantyhose as the cream poured out of him in great hot gouts; his eyes rolled back in his head as the pleasure overtook him, brain washed clean by the white hot pleasure.

"Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!" The noises were dragged out of him by the plumes of semen that jetted around his fist. Amanda watched as her son's body was wracked by orgasm, every finely-tuned muscle in his body standing out as he arched and humped and came. The last spurts of cum dribbled out of Tom's fist, through the pantyhose and down his fist.

Panting and spent, he opened his eyes.

"Mom-" he croaked weakly, trying to formulate an explanation, an excuse, anything. Before he put another word together, she was gone.

Amanda's head was spinning as she slid in and slammed the car door. What was that? What had she just witnessed? When had her son started doing *that*? When had her son grown such a big *cock*?

The tires screamed as she roared out of the driveway.

But there was no driving away from the heat smouldering between her thighs.

--

If yesterday had been spent going in and out of a daze, today Amanda was in there for a full eight hours. For starters, she'd picked that pencil skirt specifically because no matter what she did, how she moved, or walked, or sat, her nyloned thighs would rub together, and send that delicious thrill up through her, as her sensitized skin slid against the hose. Which is to say, the sizzle of gently pleased nerve endings followed her around all day long.

Secondly, any time her mind started to wander, Amanda's imagination would begin conjuring up images of Tom, naked as the day he'd been born, fucking his fist into her discarded pantyhose, looking for all the world like a golden god seized at the peak of ecstasy, manhandling a rod which had looked as though it rivalled in size the big pink vibrating pussy pleaser one of her friends had gag-gifted her on the fifth anniversary of her divorce. She jokingly called it "Big Jim," but Tom's cock - the first live dick she'd laid eyes on in an embarrassingly long time, and far and away the biggest - was no joke. The uncomfortable knowledge of her son's endowment made her squirm, which only added to the sizzle of pleasure radiating up through her lower body to the base of Amanda's neck.

And that image launched a myriad of questions that battered against the inside of her skull all day: had he done that before? did he do that often? why pantyhose? why *her* pantyhose? why was it in his mouth? when did he become so *handsome*? why couldn't she stop thinking about his cock, his abs, his lips (so pouty) gripping the hose so tight in his mouth? when was the last time she'd had a cock, any cock?

Luckily, Amanda was able to fob most of the day's work off onto one of the interns working downstairs; he'd looked so cute and eager when she'd sat on her desk, crossed her legs, and offered him a chance to do some grownup work. What was his name? Chad? Brad? Something like that. Big brown eyes and charming smile and broad shouldered in his brand new suit.

What was his cock like, she wondered? Was it as big as Tom's? Amanda tried to imagine it, a big fat tool straining through those slim navy pants of his as she perched her ass on the desk, dangling one shoe from her little foot, until it eventually clattered to the floor, and she began sliding her toes up his thigh...

Back in reality, Amanda whimpered and squeezed her thighs under her desk. The hose slid together, and the diminutive MILF tried not to move any further. The wetness down there was getting too insistent to ignore.

Really, she should just take them off. Take the hose off entirely and let her head clear so she could get properly mad about what she'd seen, and figure out what to do. Under the desk, the nylon gleamed, and she thought she saw that pattern, snaking its way around her ankle. They were so *pretty* and they felt so *good*, she just couldn't make the sacrifice. It wasn't worth it.

Maybe she just needed to get laid, instead. That sounded pretty logical. Did Brad/Chad have a girlfriend?

The day went on like that, round and round in distracting circles, until five o'clock passed and Amanda realized she'd have to go home and find some way to address the morning's events.

For good or for ill, the house was empty when she got back around six. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but the kitchen still gleamed from the surprisingly thorough cleaning he'd given it the day before.

"He's a good boy," she said to herself, sitting down at the one of the stools around the kitchen island, where she'd have a good view of the front door when Tom came back. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. We'll talk it over. It'll be fine." Amanda crossed her legs and watched the door, letting the pleasant tingle radiate up through her.

One of her heels *tok*ed against the lower rung of the stool. The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes. Seven o'clock came and went.

Amanda checked her watch, then the clock on the wall, then the clock on the oven, then her watch just to be sure they were all in sync.

Eight o'clock ticked past.

Her fingernails tapped at the screen of her phone. No messages from Tom, no replies to her messages. She paced, shoes clicking on the tile.

Nine o'clock.

She thumbed through the contacts on her phone. Did she have any of his friends' numbers? Their parents' numbers? What about that Michael kid? Or the rich one...what was his name..de something. De Walter? De Winter? De Wynter? She couldn't remember.

Ten o'clock. Ten-thirty. At ten thirty-nine, her son waltzed in through the kitchen door, not the front, obviously hoping to slink past unnoticed. Instead, he found Amanda standing there, glaring. Her arms were crossed underneath her breasts, the sleeves of her once-crisp blouse rolled up unevenly; her auburn tresses had been pulled back into a slightly-wild ponytail that was tight at the scalp and made her look more severe.

"Well," she said. "And where the *hell* have you been?" She clipped her words, looking up into her son's face. Tom wouldn't meet her heated stare.

"Just- just," the young man floundered. "Out. Just out. With some of the guys."

"Did you lose your phone? Did you break it? Was it off?" Questions fired like machine gun rounds, each punctuated by her heel. "Did you not get my texts? Were you too busy to notice it going off? Or just didn't care?"

"Mom, I-" he groped for the words, eyes desperate. "I'm a grown man now, mom. I shouldn't-"

"Sit. Down."

Tom pulled a face but dropped into a seat at the kitchen table. He looked miserable. Amanda's voice softened.

"Honey," she said. "I worry. You know I do. I don't ask for much. Just let me know when you're going to be late coming back." Amanda hopped back up on one of the stools.

"I know you're a good boy," she said, crossing her legs absently, trying to ignore the pleasant tingle. As the hose sizzled, Tom glanced up. "Just let me know, okay?" She recrossed her legs.

"Okay," he said, then blinked, and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry mom. It won't happen again, okay? Can I go now?"

"No, you can't go," Tom sighed and rolled his eyes, and stretched the full length of his legs out under the table. "Don't roll your eyes at me, either." Amanda recrossed her legs, and saw his eyes flicker up. He straightened up, and mumbled an apology. "We still have to talk about- about- about what happened here this morning."

A wretched look crossed Tom's features as the heat rose in his face. "Mom, I- I mean I don't- I mean I'd never- I mean it's not-"

"It's okay, honey." The hose sizzled and his eyes flickered and the blush faded a little. Amanda felt the heat of her anger drain away as the tingling in her legs radiated from the tips of her toes on up to her scalp. "I know-" she swallowed. "I know that young men have- have needs. And I know you haven't been able to take care of them the same way since I said you couldn't borrow my car." Amanda let one shoe slip from her heel, and dandled it on the end of her toes. Tom watched it bob, and listened to the sizzle of her hose. "Isn't that right, honey?"

"Y-yeah," he said in a faraway voice. "That's right, mom." Tom shifted in his chair, eyes on the arch of his mother's size-five foot. Amanda's fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, which had wandered somewhere north of her knee.

"So, I understand." The hem of her skirt inched higher up her thigh. "I understand why you- why you ended up-" pumping that thick young cock into my sexy fucking pantyhose, part of her wanted to scream "-doing what you did, okay? But I don't ever want to see you doing that again, alright Tom?" There was a glimmer around her well-turned ankle, and Tom's eyes chased it up the muscles in her calf, over her knee, and across the expanse of smooth, smoky-grey thigh.

"Absolutely, mom." Tom agreed without thinking. "Never again."

"Good," she said, smiling. She recrossed her legs, letting the other heel dangle, and relishing the building giddy pleasure deep in her core. "Good. Now, if you're good. And *only* if you're good for the rest of the week, I'll let you borrow the car on Friday. How does that sound?" The hem of her skirt had rucked all the way up around the tops of her thighs, and as they worked, Tom's eyes were locked on the glimmering pattern circling just below where the fabric ended.

"That sounds great, mom. That all sounds amazing." One of his hands was under the table now, in his lap. Amanda could see the muscles in his arm working; he must be itchy.

"Good," she said again. "Good. I'm glad that's settled. I'm just going to go to bed now, honey. You have a good night." Amanda hopped down from the stool, and walked over to her son on slightly wobbly legs. His eyes were unfocused, and a light sheen of sweat sparkled on his brow. She could smell him, a slightly musky, animal smell as she leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. Her lips lingered for a few moments, tasting the sweat before she parted. "Good night, Tom."

"'Night, mom." He replied, watching her, not moving from his chair.

She was unzipping her skirt before she reached the top of the stair, and it *flump*ed to the floor just inside her bedroom door. The air was cool on her damp thighs as Amanda peeled the hose off, skinning them down the sweetly rounded curves of her ass, stepping down out of her heels as she did. The diminutive redhead laid the pantyhose reverently on the bed once they were off, smoothing them out, hands relishing the silkiness of the fabric. No wonder Tom had stretched the other ones across his cock; it took considerable effort for her to stop touching them with her hands. Idly she wondered what they'd feel like, tickling her nipples, or sliding between her pussy lips...

"Get a grip, girl." She whispered to herself, fingers sliding off the nylon. Casting about, Amanda spied the package on the floor and picked it up; they'd be safe tucked away in there and-

Tucked away in the corner was a wad of bright blue fabric.

"What the hell?" Reaching inside, her delicate fingers drew out a pair of electric blue nylons. They definitely hadn't been there this morning, she knew that. There was no way there'd been room for *three* pairs in there. It simply wasn't big enough.

Laying the new pair next to the grey ones she'd just taken off, Amanda looked inside again. Nothing. Blank white cardboard stared back. She laughed, and if there was a slightly hysterical edge to her laughter, nobody said anything about it. She looked again. Nothing.

"Get a grip," she said again. It wasn't a magicians' top pocket. An endless stream of pantyhose wasn't about to come flying out. That simply wasn't possible. Right?

Amanda looked at the new pair. There was no way she could wear these to work tomorrow: the colour was too outlandish, too bright. Nonetheless, she smoothed them out, spreading them over the sheets, two long slashes of searing blue, connected at the top by a narrow bridge of the same colour.

These were obviously not her usual sedate work safe pantyhose. There was no crotch in evidence, for starters. They almost looked like stockings and a garter belt, all of a single piece. Her fingers toyed with the fabric. Amanda had never worn stockings before.

She picked them up by the waistband, holding them just under the shadow of her navel. The big black briefs she was wearing looked ugly, utilitarian, against the wild blue. Amanda fingered the nylon. Then, she made a decision. Stepping back from the mirror, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and yanked them down.The sudden inrush of air made her very cognizant of the creaminess that stained the gusset of her panties.

Feeling giddy, and a little girlish, Amanda dropped the panties to the floor where they lay in an unsightly little pile, and remained there forgotten, as she slid her foot into the blue nylon. The single mother had to repress a shudder as the fabric stretched and across her skin, creamy pale underneath the opaques. Again, the delicious sensation of nerve endings awakening and tingling to life rippled throughout her lower extremities. Her toes curled as the fabric crawled up her calves, past her knees, silkiness sliding across her taut thighs until the waistband snapped into place just below her navel.

Amanda pulled her ponytail loose and shook her head, letting her hair tumble down to her bare shoulders in an auburn cascade. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin had the ivory smoothness that came concomitant with the red in her hair, though the early summer sun had kissed her shoulders and the upper slopes of her breasts, concealed beneath their nude cotton bra, with a sprinkling of freckles. She spread her hands across the expanse of her stomach, kept trim by constant attention, though perhaps a little softer than she'd like. Her fingers found the waistband of the hose and tugged them upwards, relishing the new sensations radiating up through her legs as they stretched a little tighter across her skin.

Amanda turned and looked over her shoulder into the glass. An electric blue band of nylon skimmed across the tops of her buttocks before sweeping down in a dramatic inverted U that left her firm cheeks half-bared, elastic digging into the muscular flesh. She reached back to snap the band, watching the slight jiggle in the meat of her behind before standing up on her tiptoes and flexing it, feeling those globes go steely hard under her fingers. Her legs looked like they'd been dipped in Blue Raspberry flavouring. Wheeling about on one toe, she inspected the well-trimmed, bright ginger tuft of hair left exposed at the apex of her thighs, and fluffed it with her fingernails. Not too long, but could do with some grooming soon.

Below, she saw moisture glistening on the inside of her thighs; spreading her legs slightly, she looked down. Strawberry-pink labia peeked out from between Amanda's vulva, dripping steadily with wetness that had been oozing into her panties all day. Her fingers slid easily between her lips with a little wet noise, and she gasped. Straightening up, she reached back with sticky fingers and unhooked her bra before flicking it into a corner with a disdainful look.

After she'd had Tom, her breasts had swollen through the first three letters of the alphabet, settled somewhere north of D, and stayed there. As they wobbled into view, all milky white mature flesh, capped by dusty pink nipples standing at attention, Amanda regarded herself in the mirror, letting her fingers do the walking past her tidy nest of pubic hair.

She looked good, she decided, slick fingers sliding back and forth between clitoris and vagina. Her hips tilted back as she spread her legs a little more, and the suspender hose glimmered. Better than good.

"Fucking *hot*," she hissed through plush lips, lifting one heavy breast, mauling it with her fingers. Where was Brad/Chad now, she wondered. There's no way he'd be able to resist her like this, ethics be damned. Then she could throw that strapping young body down on her bed, tear those tight-ass pants off him and-

Amanda crawled up onto the bed, opened the drawer in the side table and scrabbled around inside before pulling Big Jim out from his resting place. It had always seemed so intimidating before, she'd never actually put it inside of herself, simply used the vibrating function to get off; now, it seemed, if not actually *smaller* then certainly more *manageable*.

Her mouth twisted up into a grin as she twisted the base and it roared to life in her fist. Getting up on all fours, Amanda rubbed the tip of the thing against the slippery folds of her pussy, and it slid easily into her ripened depths.

"Unf," she grunted. "That's right you fucker, fuck that young cock right up inside of me." The dildo, buzzing away in her cunt, squelched as her juices sluiced out around her fist. "I've been waiting all fucking day for this, and you'd better fuck me right." Amanda imagined the intern saddling up behind her, taking her hips in his big hands and-

There was something wrong with that picture.

She flipped over onto her back, furiously plunging Big Jim's humming pink shaft in and out of her clasping hole. Looking down, she raised her electric blue thigh, and Brad/Chad loomed over her, sculpted young body tense as he thrust into her, her legs stretched wide and high in the air, pantyhose glimmering and-

"Fffuck," she said through shivering lips. "If you're not gonna fuck me right, hon, then momma will just have to show you how it's done." Amanda rolled over onto her knees, righting herself, fingers holding Jim tightly inside her juicy hole. "How's it feel to get fucked," she asked an imaginary Brad/Chad, mauling one tit as she palmed her clitoris. "How's it feel to get fucked by a real woman for once, and not one of your stupid college sluts?"

Amanda gritted her teeth as the pleasure rolled through her body. "You fucking love it don't you? You fucking love this fucking cunt, old enough to be your-" the hose glimmered. She gasped, had to catch her breath. "That's right old enough to be your fucking moth-" She humped the humming plastic filling her up with ever-increasing desperation, barely aware of the words falling out of her mouth while the suspender hose glimmered and the pattern raced around her thighs, unseen by the wearer. "Your *fucking* mother!" She gasped. "Your fucking *mother*, motherfucker!" The fire between her thighs, smouldering all day long, burned searingly hot now, achingly so, a dam of white-hot pleasure so ready to burst. "Fuh-fuh-fuck! Motherfucker! Fuck motherfuh-fucker! Fuck your fuh-fucking muuuuhhhhhhHHH!"

The words were lost in a rising shriek as she started cumming, juices pouring out around the pistoning plastic cock, her back arched and hair a wild mane of sweaty loose curls as the orgasm ripped through her body. Ecstasy sang through her legs and thighs, the tingling song of the pantyhose firing neurons through pleasure centres she hadn't even known she had.

Amanda's body jerked its way through orgasm, electric shocks coursing through her limbs, leaving behind an irresistible lassitude that ended in her crumpling helplessly to the bed. Too exhausted to move, she let sleep take her, but it couldn't take the smile from her face.